With Byron in Italy: Being a Selection of the Poems and Letter of Lord Byron which Have to Do with His Life in Italy from 1816 to 1823A. C. McClurg & Company, 1906 - 327 sidor |
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Sida 60
... wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me , and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times , when many a subject land Look'd to the wingèd Lion's marble piles ...
... wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me , and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times , when many a subject land Look'd to the wingèd Lion's marble piles ...
Sida 60
... waves , and shun , Even in destruction's depth , her foreign foes , From whom submission wrings an infamous repose . XIV In youth she was all glory , a new Tyre , Her very by - word sprung from victory , The " Planter of the Lion ...
... waves , and shun , Even in destruction's depth , her foreign foes , From whom submission wrings an infamous repose . XIV In youth she was all glory , a new Tyre , Her very by - word sprung from victory , The " Planter of the Lion ...
Sida 70
... wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph , to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them , thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk - white steer Grazes , the purest god of gentle waters , And ...
... wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph , to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them , thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk - white steer Grazes , the purest god of gentle waters , And ...
Sida 73
... wave - worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss , And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony , wrung out ...
... wave - worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss , And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony , wrung out ...
Sida 77
... wave about to break , And on the curl hangs pausing . Not in vain May he , who will , his recollections rake , And quote in classic raptures , and awake The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorr'd Too much , to conquer for the poet's sake ...
... wave about to break , And on the curl hangs pausing . Not in vain May he , who will , his recollections rake , And quote in classic raptures , and awake The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorr'd Too much , to conquer for the poet's sake ...
Andra upplagor - Visa alla
With Byron in Italy: A Selection of the Poems and Letters of Lord Byron ... George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1907 |
With Byron in Italy: A Selection of the Poems and Letters of Lord Byron ... Anna Benneson McMahan,Baron George Gordon Byron Byron Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016 |
With Byron in Italy Anna Benneson Mcmahan,George Gordon Byron,A C McClurg and Co Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2023 |
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Abbot Adah Arqua Bard beauty blood breast breath brow Byron Cain Canto Capitoline Hill Childe Harold clime Column of Phocas Dante dead dear death deep didst Doge dome Don Juan dost doth dust earth English eternal eyes fame feel Florence forget Francesca of Rimini Gallery genius gentle Giorgione glory grave Guiccioli hath heart heaven Hobhouse hour hues immortal Italian Italy JOHN MURRAY JOHN MURRAY VENICE lady Leigh Hunt letter live look Lord Lucifer Manfred marble Michel Angelo mind monument mortal mountains nations ne'er never night o'er ocean once palace passions Pisa poem poet poetry publish Ravenna repose Romagna Roman Rome round ruin Samian wine scene seen Shelley shine shore soul spirit stanza stars sweet Tasso thee thine things THOMAS MOORE thou art thought tomb tyrants Venetian walls waters waves woes words
Populära avsnitt
Sida 81 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. LXXIX. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within...
Sida 92 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Sida 60 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand...
Sida 285 - Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae...
Sida 284 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Sida 100 - But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Sida 286 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?
Sida 95 - But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And...
Sida 83 - Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth.
Sida 100 - Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; And why? It is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.